Star, that gives a gracious dole, br What am I to choose? br Oh, will it be a shriven soul, br Or little buckled shoes? br br Shall I wish a wedding-ring, br Bright and thin and round, br Or plead you send me covering- br A newly spaded mound? br br Gentle beam, shall I implore br Gold, or sailing-ships, br Or beg I hate forevermore br A pair of lying lips? br br Swing you low or high away, br Burn you hot or dim; br My only wish I dare not say- br Lest you should grant me him.